


flowers grow (out in the open wilderness of love)

by echoes_of_realities



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detective, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/F, Flowers!Verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: Brittany’s had to interview at lot of strange witnesses as a detective, but this one is definitely the most adorable. She’s got dark hair and dark eyes, there’s leaves stuck in her ponytail and a water stains on her green apron and clever fingers. She’s also clutching a bloody towel to her hand and cursing like a sailor. Brittany’s pretty sure that if she weren’t on duty, she’d be swooning, but she is on duty, so she straightens her windbreaker detective jacket and flips her notebook open and heads to the back of the flower shop.Or: A collection of all the Flowers!Verse prompts.





	1. plumeria

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted a place for all of the Flowers!Verse prompts, so those will be updated here now instead of in _I loved you in the darkness and I loved you in fluorescent light._
> 
> Each chapter will be a different flower with a specific meaning related to the the chapter (mostly because I don't know that many songs related to flowers or detectives lol).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katttym asked: 85. “I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor.”

Brittany’s had to interview at lot of strange witnesses as a detective, but this one is definitely the most adorable. She’s got dark hair and dark eyes, there’s leaves stuck in her ponytail and a water stains on her green apron and clever fingers. She’s also clutching a bloody towel to her hand and cursing like a sailor. Brittany’s pretty sure that if she weren’t on duty, she’d be swooning, but she is on duty, so she straightens her windbreaker detective jacket and flips her notebook open and heads to the back of the flower shop.

“Detective Pierce,” the uniform says in relief. He turns to the flower shop owner. “This is Detective Pierce,” he tells her unnecessarily. 

“I heard,” the owner says cooly.

“R- Right,” the uniform stutters. “Detective Pierce, this is Santana Lopez, the owner of the flower shop.” Santana Lopez holds up her cradled hands in greeting, nodding at her bloody towel in lieu of shaking Brittany’s hand.

“Right,” Brittany says. “You told me that already. When you met me at the door like ten minutes ago.”

“Right,” the uniform says, and then flees.

“Right,” Brittany says slowly. “Anyways. I see you’ve met Officer Hudson, I promise I’m not as dumbfounded as he is.”

Santana Lopez smiles and Brittany’s heart skips a beat or ten; she has these adorably deep dimples and Brittany has to remind herself to be professional. “I can already tell you have far more than three braincells to rub together.”

Brittany fights to keep her smile in check; while she agrees with Santana Lopez, she really shouldn’t be seen talking down on the other cops. “So, Ms. Lopez—”

“Santana, please,” Santana interrupts, “Ms. Lopez was my mom, and I love her to death but god help me if I ever turn into her.”

Brittany can’t fight the small smile. Santana’s charming and adorable, despite her attempts at a cool exterior. “Alright, _Santana_ ,” she says, and Santana looks about as pleased as Brittany feels at saying her name. “So walk me through the robbery.”

“I wouldn’t call it a robbery.”

“Really?” Brittany asks in interest. “Then what would you call someone attempting to rob the place.”

Santana smirks, and despite the fact that she’s smug, she still just looks adorable, especially because even her smirk reveals dimples. “Attempted robbery.”

Brittany’s laugh surprises her, and the way Santana’s face lights up at it makes her feel all floaty. “Okay, walk me through the _attempted_ robbery.”

Santana nods at the failed robber, currently sulking in the back of a patrol car. “He came in here with a gun and started threatening my employees and demanding money. I was in the back so he didn’t realize I was there, bringing up an arrangement of orange lilies and carnations for an order. My employees and the robber didn’t see me at all and by the time I realized what exactly was happening I was only a couple feet away from him.” Santana shrugs. “So I snuck up behind him and smashed the arrangement vase on his head and he didn’t move much after that. He has a stupidly hard head and the vase shattered. Hence the hand,” she explains, wiggling the aforementioned appendage with her other hand. “One of my workers called 911 and you guys got here pretty quick after that.” Brittany jots down notes about Santana’s story, glancing up at Santana through her eyelashes when she’s not looking. “What’s your interest in it?” Santana asks suddenly.

“Huh?”

Santana smiles a little. “You’re a detective, right? Why would you be sent to get my statement about an unsuccessful robbery if it didn’t connect to something bigger?”

Brittany’s lips curl into a smile. “You’re clever,” she says, “There’s been a series of robberies targeting flower shops across Brooklyn. Your’s seems to be the sixth one hit.”

Santana looks thoughtful. “That’s odd. It’s not like flower shops are real profitable.”

“Exactly,” Brittany agrees. “Hence, me,” she says, gesturing to herself with her notebook, “Detective Pierce.” Santana giggles and Brittany’s pretty sure her insides are about to float away. “How’s your hand?” she asks instead of embarrassing herself.

Santana shrugs. “It’s fine, just a little cut.”

“It seems like a lot of blood, I would probably see a doctor about that,” Brittany suggests mildly.

Brittany raises her eyebrows and glances down at the bloody towel (and secretly enjoys the way Santana blushes and looks a little breathless). “Really,” Santana insists, peeling the towel away. The towel is stuck to the wound and Santana winces and quickly presses the fabric back to her hand. “Ow, fuck,” she curses.

“I’m not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor,” Brittany says.

Santana glares at her, but even that’s pretty adorable. “Oh, what do you know?” she complains.

Brittany grins. “Well it’s no bullethole,” she agrees, “but it shouldn’t be bleeding that much.”

“You think?” Santana mumbles, but she doesn’t seem to be challenging, just thoughtful.

“Once we finish up here, you should really go see a doctor,” Brittany suggests.

Santana’s quiet for a moment, and when she looks up Brittany’s a little surprised by how deep and dark her eyes are; Brittany’s sure she could drown in them, and she blinks quickly to regain her focus. “You’re probably right, Detective Pierce.”

Brittany grins. “I know I am, Santana Lopez, flower-shop-owner.”

Santana smiles at her and Brittany’s almost positive those dimples are going to be the death of her.


	2. chrysanthemums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snixxwrath asked: 21. “I’m bulletproof, but please, don’t shoot me.”

It’s four days after the attempted robbery that Santana meets Detective Pierce again. It’s almost closing time so Santana’s the only person in the shop. She’s busy at the counter, her back to the store, carefully trimming stems for what Santana calls the _I-fucked-up-please-forgive-me_ bouquet; she doesn’t hear the wind chimes above the door because she’s humming to herself.

“I love that song,” a voice says from right behind her, and Santana spins around with a shriek, holding a couple flowers in one hand and dethorners out in front of her in the other.

Detective Pierce, in all her effortless beauty, stands on the other side of the counter with a small smile and slightly worried eyes. “I’m bulletproof,” Detective Pierce says, tapping the bulkiness of her vest under her police windbreaker, “but please, don’t shoot me. Especially with whatever those are,” she says, gesturing to the dethorners. She pauses and her smile turns teasing. “Or hit me with a vase.”

Santana rolls her eyes and sets the flowers and dethorners down. “You knock a guy out with a vase one time,” she complains.

Detective Pierce laughs and Santana’s heart leaps. “The guy complained the entire way back to the precinct.”

Santana’s brows rise. “You’re saying I shouldn’t have stopped him?”

“Oh no,” Detective Pierce giggles — she actually _giggles_ and Santana has a hard time breathing, “You absolutely should have slammed a vase on his head. It was glorious.”

Santana busies herself with putting her tools away and placing the flowers in one of the coolers; she was planning on working a little bit later tonight, but Detective Pierce is much more interesting to talk to than the flowers.

“So what brings you here tonight, Detective?” she asks.

“Detective Pierce,” she says, pointing at herself with a teasing smile, “I believe we’ve met.” 

Santana laughs and feels a tugging on something under her sternum. The detective is really, really, _really_ cute, even if her jokes are awful.

“Detective _Pierce_ ,” she greets, “What brings you back to my humble flower shop?”

“Brittany,” Detective Pierce says.

Santana frowns. “Is that some kind of code? Or like, whoever’s been targeting all the flower shops?”

Detective Pierce looks a bit like she took a bite of something sweet. “No, my name. Brittany Pierce. It’s not very fair if I’m calling you Santana and you’re still calling me _Detective_.”

Santana blinks before her smile spreads. She had been wondering, when they first met, if Detective Pierce — _Brittany_ — was flirting with her, but Santana’s nothing if not completely _hopeless_ when it comes to girls flirting with her; now she’s _sure_ that Brittany’s flirting with her (or, mostly sure, at least seventy-eight percent sure). “Alright then, _Brittany_ ,” Brittany looks as delighted as Santana felt the first time she said _Santana_ , “was there a break in the case or something?”

“Something like that. We think we’ve found the connection between them, but we still gotta prove it,” Brittany explains, and the way her face switches from soft to focused makes Santana swoon. “I was wondering if you have and security camera footage that we could look at. We think that someone cased the shops before they hit them, so we want to compare as many customers across the shops as we can.”

“And a phone call wouldn’t suffice to tell me this?” Santana asks teasingly.

Brittany shrugs one shoulder and her face turns sheepish, her blush obscuring the freckles sprinkled across her nose and below her eyes. “It was the end of my shift and I really wanted to make sure your hand was okay.”

Santana softens and melts. She holds up her hand, displaying twelve stitches neatly suturing her skin together with a proud smile. “Doc says I can get them out in ten days.”

Brittany smiles. “That’s great! It must suck not being able to close your fist though.”

Santana shrugs. “I manage.” The grandfather clock that Santana’s mother got her for her opening chimes the hour, and Santana glances at it with tired eyes. Despite the fact that having Brittany only a counter away, she’s exhausted. “Do you mind if I lock up?” Santana asks, “I should have done it an hour ago but I wanted to get a head start on some orders for tomorrow, since I’m slower and all,” she explains with a wave of her injured hand.

Brittany’s eyes widen. “Of course! I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

Santana waves her off. “It’s fine,” she says, “It’s really nice to have some cute company.”

Brittany flushes, her smile soft; Santana’s face _burns_ and she quickly flees to the backroom. She shuts off lights and closes blinds and triple checks the doors are locked, taking the few minutes to compose herself. She hangs her apron in her locker and heads back to the front, stopping at the staff room quickly to survey herself in the mirror, cringing when she plucks a small twig from her hair.

Brittany’s looking at the bouquets and vases and special arrangements displayed near the front window. Santana approaches her quietly, losing her breath when Brittany glances at her and bright blue eyes meet her own.

“You made all of these?” Brittany asks, her voice full of wonder like she’s seeing the stars for the first time.

Santana blushes and shrugs. “Yeah, almost all of them.”

“They’re _beautiful_ ,” Brittany murmurs, more to herself than anything. Santana’s blush just deepens as she heads for the front door. She holds it open for Brittany, who whispers her _thanks_ as she slips out into the cool night air.

Brittany stands awkwardly by the door while Santana locks up, fidgeting with the bottom of her jacket. She’s adorable; her blue eyes bright and open and her bottom lip caught between her teeth, one leg kicked back behind her as she waits for Santana.

Santana can see a question in her eyes, hidden just behind nerves and fear. Brittany’s staring at the sidewalk with a focused intensity that Santana’s never seen in anyone before. She pockets her keys and turns to Brittany with a small smile.

“Do you want to get a coffee?” Santana asks softly.

Brittany’s head shoots up and she looks both shocked and breathless and like her greatest wish just came true. When she smiles, Santana’s heart nearly stops beating at how beautiful it is.

“I’d love to.”


	3. lilac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snixxwrath asked: 36. “They’re monsters.”

 

Santana doesn’t like to jump to conclusions, but she’s pretty sure Brittany _likes_ her, which is really good because Santana’s heart pounds whenever she’s near. They’ve gone out for coffee more than a couple times; Brittany shows up every couple days right before closing time, waitingfor Santana to lock up before offering Santana her arm as they head to the cafe that’s kind of become _their_ cafe.

Santana’s pretty sure they’re going on dates, or at least, she really hopes they’re going on dates because she _really_ likes Brittany. She’s funny and pretty and kind and determined and _smart_ ; Santana _really_ wants them to be going on dates because she _really_ likes Brittany and _really, really_ wants to kiss her. She hasn’t yet, because she keeps losing her nerve every time Brittany looks at her with those bright, hopeful eyes. 

But Santana has a good feeling about tonight; it’s clear and warm, and the city’s actually pretty calm for once. The streetlights paint Brittany’s features in glowing gold, and every time blue eyes turn to meet hers, they dart down to Santana’s lips and stall there before meeting dark eyes again with a deep blush. Something in Santana’s chest flutters, beating heavily against her ribs. She tries to ignore it, but it grows and grows until she can’t help but curl closer to Brittany. 

Brittany’s hand tightens briefly around Santana’s where it rests in the crook of her arm, and she gives Santana a soft, awed smile as their hips brush. They reach the cafe far too soon, because having Brittany pressed all along the side of her body is both comfortable and exhilarating, and she’s reluctant to release her; except when they get to the cafe, they find the windows darkened and a closed sign in the door.

“They’re closed!” Brittany exclaims, her fingers tightening around Santana’s, and Santana can’t really focus on what she’s saying because her heart goes a little haywire at the feeling. “I can’t believe this.”

“Well, we’ve never gone on out on Sunday before,” Santana eventually manages.

“Still,” Brittany whines.

“They’re monsters,” Santana teases.

“Right?” Brittany giggles.

“What do you want to do then?” Santana asks. “I mean— If you have somewhere you need to be that’s fine—”

“Santana,” Brittany interrupts, and Santana melts at the nickname, “We’ve been doing this for weeks. There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

Santana breathes a sigh of relief and smiles up at Brittany. “Well there’s this food truck I know with delicious ice cream just by the river,” Santana suggests, “If you don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

Brittany grins and nods, letting Santana lead her down the sidewalk. “An ice cream date, I love it.”

“A date?” Santana breathes.

Brittany looks at Santana with an adoring smile, shaking her head slightly like she can’t quite believe Santana’s real. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all this time? Dating?”

Santana melts further into Brittany’s side and smiles up at her, all bunched cheeks and deep dimples. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“Good,” Brittany says, tugging Santana even closer.

They make it to the ice cream truck just as the sun is starting to dip below the horizon, turning the river to pink, gold, and orange. Santana still can’t believe, that even after weeks of walking and talking and having coffee, they still haven’t ran out of things to talk about, and every little piece of information she learns about Brittany, she tucks away in the part of her mind where all her precious thoughts and memories are kept. They walk along the side of the river, eating their ice cream quickly so it doesn’t melt in their hands under the summer heat. Brittany finishes her ice cream first and balls her napkin up in her fist, tossing it in the garbage as they pass, narrating whatever crazy thing her cat did recently.

Brittany eventually slows to a stop, carefully leading Santana around her so their facing each other. Santana tucks her napkin in her pocket, feeling light and floaty when Brittany takes her hand again.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Brittany whispers, like she’s admitting a secret that only the setting sun and emerging stars and Santana can know. 

“Yeah?” Santana breathes, and the butterflies in her stomach take flight until her blood feels like it’s buzzing.

Brittany nods and takes a careful step towards Santana. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a really long time.”

Santana smiles and takes a step towards Brittany too, so close that their toes are touching, Santana’s old sneakers to Brittany’s work boots. “So have I,” Santana admits in a whisper.

Brittany’s blue eyes glow as her face lights up. “Good,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on Santana’s. She kisses her and something inside Santana trembles and brightens; Brittany tastes of caramel and coffee and something richer, something sweet and deep and warm. Santana’s fingers brush the cool metal of Brittany’s badge as they anchor on her hips, fingers curling into her belt loops and tugging until their bodies are pressed together; Brittany’s solid and strong against her, and Santana melts into her embrace. Brittany’s hands delicately cup her cheeks, as if she’s holding the most precious thing in the world, and Santana’s heartbeat pounds quick and steady like a hummingbird’s wings.

By the time they pull back, the sun’s only just peeking over the horizon, and Santana’s breathless and giddy, melting further into Brittany’s body because her limbs feel light and floaty, like she might drift away if she’s not anchored to Brittany. 

Brittany’s face is flushed and her lips are bright and wet, but her eyes, bright and blue and smitten, are what makes Santana lean in to kiss her again, and again, and again—


	4. daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snixxwrath asked: 72. “Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now.”

It’s half an hour past closing time when Santana starts to get worried. She knows Brittany runs late sometimes, depending on what’s happening at the precinct at the end of her shift, but it’s going on forty minutes and there’s no sign of her girlfriend. Over the last couple months they’ve been dating, Brittany’s come to pick her up from the flower shop almost everyday, and they go on a short walk or head to the cafe or down to the river or out to dinner, depending on the time, before they head home (Santana’s apartment is right in the middle of both the precinct and the flower shop, and more nights than not they just end up staying there because it’s so convenient; most nights they just end up curling up together and falling asleep, and Santana’s never been happier in her life).

It’s been pouring for about twenty minutes, and Santana can’t help but think of all the horrible things that could have happened to Brittany. It wouldn’t be the first time Brittany had to call her and tell her to head home, and right now Santana doesn’t even care care about the sleepless night she knows she’ll have without Brittany’s warmth pressed against her, she just _needs_ to know Brittany’s okay. She knows that Brittany’s probably caught up in a case and will call her soon to apologize and tell her to head home, but between the zero messages on her phone and the pouring rain, her stomach is twisted in knots. She’s pacing at the front of the store, wringing her hands and glancing at her phone every fifteen seconds, when the wind chimes above the door jangle.

Santana spins on her heel towards the door, her fear dissipating as soon as her eyes land on her girlfriend. “Brittany,” Santana gasps, immediately crossing the store to greet her. “You’re soaked.”

“Sorry,” Brittany mutters sheepishly, glancing down at the puddle forming around her feet. Her blonde hair is limp and stuck to her shoulders, her sweater is heavy on her shoulders and dripping water, she won’t meet Santana’s eyes, and there’s a long, painful looking scrape along her temple.

“What?” Santana asks, her brows drawn together, her eyes darting all over Brittany’s face in worry.

Brittany gestures to the water pooling on the floor and winces, but Santana’s already shaking her head. Brittany’s hands are ice cold when she takes them, and Santana brings them to her lips, pressing her lips to the knuckles and breathing hot air into them. “I don’t care about the water. I care about _you_ , you’re going to get sick from all this.”

“Sorry I’m late,” she whispers.

“It’s fine,” Santana whispers back, matching Brittany’s tone, “You’re here now.”

“It was just—” Brittany cuts herself off and breathes out shakily. When her blue eyes finally meet Santana’s, they’re so dull that Santana’s heart aches. “It was just a _really_ bad day.”

“Aw, sweetie,” Santana releases one of Brittany’s hands to cup her cheek, “You didn’t have to come, you should have just called me and then gone home,” Santana says, brushing Brittany’s soaked hair back from her face; her fingers skate over the scrape on Brittany’s temple, murmuring an apology when Brittany winces at the gentle pressure.

Brittany shrugs one shoulder and ducks her head. “I just really needed to see you,” she admits quietly. “It was— I just needed to see you.”

“Britt-Britt,” Santana mumbles. She releases Brittany’s other hand and cups her cheek, pulling her down so their foreheads press together. “What can I do?”

“Just smile,” Brittany whispers instantly, “I really need to see you smile right now.”

Santana leans forward and presses her lips to Brittany’s, keeping the pressure light and gentle, keeping the kiss soft and reassuring, long and innocent. Brittany’s eyes are closed when Santana slowly pulls away, and Santana pecks her lips again quickly. She smiles softly, waiting for blue eyes to flutter open.

“Thank you,” Brittany whispers, her lips pulled thin by the small smile playing across her face. There’s life in her blue eyes again, glowing and brightening, and she kisses Santana quickly. “I love you.”

Santana’s chest tightens and a thousand butterflies erupt in her stomach, making her soul tremble and her heart pound, until she feels floaty all the way down to her toes. There have been so many times, especially over the past few weeks, that Santana’s bit her tongue to keep those words trapped inside her mouth out of fear that Brittany didn’t feel the same way, and all of a sudden Santana has no clue what she was so scared of.

“I love you too,” Santana whispers, and if she’s a little teary only the security cameras and Brittany will ever know.

Brittany’s smile lights up her entire face, and despite the puddle forming around her and the blonde hair stuck to her neck and her sopping clothes and the painful scrape on her temple, Santana’s pretty sure she’s never looked happier or more beautiful. 

Santana _knows_ that she’s never been happier herself, kissing her girlfriend who’s still drenched from the rain, tilting her face down closer to hers and humming into her mouth when Brittany’s hands curl around her hips to tug them closer together. Brittany’s lips moves over hers in a way that’s achingly familiar, and Santana realizes she’s mumbling _I love you_ against her lips, and Santana smiles into the kiss, curling even impossibly closer, sliding her hands to the back of Brittany’s neck and tracing tiny hearts across her skin.


	5. lily of the valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snixxwrath asked: 65. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Santana doesn’t know how, but somehow she’s been dating Brittany for six months and only just now found out she can dance. She knew that Brittany had rhythm, based on how easily she danced around the kitchen while they cook supper, but this is the first time they’ve been out dancing dancing, and watching Brittany move around the dance floor like she was born to do it fills Santana with such a sense of adoration and pride that she doesn’t even care when Mercedes snaps a picture of her beaming face.

Mercedes Jones, the assistant manager of the flower shop and the only person Santana really trusts outside of Brittany and her mom, was part of the reason Santana agreed to go out (the other reason, which did about ninety-two percent of the convincing, was Brittany’s promises of sweet lady kisses later). Mercedes has been a struggling musician for as long as Santana’s known her, all the way back in their first year of college. Mercedes was one of the few people to support Santana’s aspirations to open her own flower shop, and Santana’s forever grateful for that. Santana offered Mercedes the job of assistant manager almost as soon as the first discussions with investors and banks happened, but Mercedes only accepted a couple years ago. Mercedes is assistant manager only in name, because Santana relies on her more as a co-owner and wouldn’t be where she is today without her; and it breaks Santana’s heart that nobody can see how damn talented Mercedes is. Santana knows she’d be a star, if someone would just give her the opportunity to shine.

Which is why Santana is almost more excited than Mercedes is when she gets a phone call in the middle of the day on an otherwise boring Thursday, a phone call that says some producers saw her stuff online and are very interested in talking with her further. Mercedes was in shock for most of the day, and only started getting excited once she was getting ready at Santana’s place to go out to celebrate with Santana and Brittany and a couple of other their friends.

They pick a place they can really dance at, because Brittany’s partner, Mike, and Mercedes both love the bar, and all Brittany has to do is turn her pout on Santana before she’s giving in.

Santana doesn’t regret her decision, per say, it’s just that nothing could have prepared her for what it’s like to watch her girlfriend dance; not in an aroused way, though Brittany dancing is easily one of the sexiest things Santana has ever witnessed, just in an awed way. Santana’s jaw drops from the first move Brittany makes (and it doesn’t really close until Brittany is tugging her into a taxi later that night). Brittany moves like she’s a softened elastic band, all liquid movement until she snaps, both with precision and self-assurance, she moves like she was made just to make that step, she moves like she was born for it. Santana can barely take her eyes off her girlfriend, occasionally glancing at Mike with a fond smile, because it’s pretty funny seeing Britt and Mike, both so dressed up and serious at work, breakdance with splitting grins spread across their cheeks and sweat dripping down their temples and their hair flying everywhere.

Mercedes slides into the booth beside Santana, breaking her concentration and waving her phone with the picture of Santana’s dopiest face around. Santana can’t bring herself to perform her usual snark, so she just shakes her head with a fond eye roll and slides over on the booth seat so Mercedes can swing her legs in under the small table.

“You’re so sappy,” Mercedes says.

“You love it,” Santana retorts, her eyes drifting back to Brittany.

Her and Merceds chat for a while, about what they’re going to do about work, about how amazing it is that Mercedes got a call from a producer out of the blue, about how lazy their newest hire is, about how much Santana will miss Mercedes when she gets crazy successfully and moves to L.A. (that part is mostly Santana being dramatic, with just a shred of truth in it).

Eventually Mercedes is dragged away by some of her other friends and Brittany saunters over to her. Santana slides to the end of the tall booth and tugs on Brittany’s hips so they’re snug between her legs.

“You can dance!” Santana shouts over the music.

Brittany has to lean super close to hear Santana, their foreheads almost brushing as they tangle their hands together between their body; it takes a second for Santana’s words to process over the speakers blast above them, but when she does she lets out a loud, giddy-happy laugh. “Of course I can dance, you danced with me in the kitchen just last night.”

Santana shakes her head and stares up at Brittany in awe. “No, Britt-Britt, I mean you can  _dance_. I’ve never seen anyone dance as well as you. You’re, like, the most amazing dancer I know.”

Even through the flush of adrenaline and exertion and the heat of the bar, Brittany blushes all the way to the tips of her ears. “Thank you,” she mumbles, and Santana has to bounce up on her tiptoes and press a kiss to the corner of Brittany’s mouth, tasting strawberries from earlier and vanilla lip chap and the faint tang of alcohol.

Mercedes bumps into them again just then, her smile wide as she wraps Santana and Brittany in a three-way hug. Mercedes had taken to Brittany almost as quickly as Santana had, and she’s so happy that one of her oldest friends and her newest friends are so happy together; tonight she’s just a little bit selfish and is so proud of herself for making it this far, even if everything falls apart afterwards.

It’s just after one by the time they all part ways; Mercedes and Mike and Mercedes’ friend Quinn all share a taxi since they’re heading in the same direction, while Brittany and Santana take their own since they’re heading in the opposite way. Brittany traces distracting patterns just under the hem of her skirt, and it gets Santana excited in a very different, but no less amazing way. Santana’s about ready to jump her girlfriend by the time they pull up outside of her apartment building, but the only problem, Santana quickly realizes, is that Santana is so  _sore_  now; she aches in muscles she didn’t even know she had from dancing with Brittany, and as soon as they enter Santana’s bedroom, Santana collapses face first on the bed with a loud groan.

Brittany giggles from the doorway, crossing the room to perch on the bed beside her girlfriend, carding her fingers through dark curls and carefully working through the knots when her fingers catch in them. “Are you tired, honey?” she asks, and Santana can hear the smile in her voice.

Santana just groans into her comforter instead of answering. Brittany shifts on the bed, and then her warm hands are on Santana’s back, working around the low back of her dress and digging luxuriously into bare skin.

Santana’s groan turns into a sigh of relief as she feels a knot in her back release; Brittany has magic fingers and she manages to find every single ache and knot, carefully massaging it out while Santana stretches and melts like a kitten in a sunbeam.

She’s dozing off when she feels Brittany place a soft kiss to the middle of her back, right between her shoulder blades.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Brittany asks quietly.

Santana shakes her head childishly. “I don’t want you to stop,” she mumbles.

Brittany presses another kiss to her shoulder blades. “At least let me change you into some pajamas,” she whispers.

Santana grunts and lets herself be guided into a sitting position, drowsily allowing Brittany to unzip her dress and pull it off. She yawns and lets her eyes droop closed, relaxed and sleepy, while Brittany putters around the other side of the bedroom, hanging Santana’s dress over the side of the hamper before quickly stripping out of hers and doing the same.

Santana dozes off, because the next thing she knows is her bra hitting the hamper and Brittany is standing there, in sleep shorts and an old t-shirt, pulling a shirt over Santana’s head. She gently taps Santana’s side and guides her back down onto the bed, adjusting her until she’s laying on her stomach, her arms curled under the pillow. Brittany settles over top of her, sitting back on Santana’s thighs and squeezing her knees along Santana’s ribs to keep her in place, and Santana barely has a second to perk up in interest before clever fingers are digging into her sore muscles and working the ache out. Santana moans quietly and sinks deeper into the bed, sighing contently when Brittany quietly asks her if she’s doing okay. Brittany hums something soft and sweet above her, and Santana feels herself start to drift out of consciousness, at the sound and feel of Brittany above her; Brittany hums something like a long forgotten memory, like an old song you still know all the words to, like Santana’s finally coming home.

When Santana finally falls asleep, it’s to Brittany settling against her, warm and solid all along her left side. “Goodnight, honey,” Brittany murmurs, “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Santana mumbles back, sighing deeply, comfortable and relaxed, when Brittany presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. Brittany’s lips curved into a smile against her skin is the last thing Santana remembers before she’s lost to her dreams.


	6. marigold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 19. “Just breathe, okay?” 

Brittany’s been dating Santana for nine months when she catches a break in the flower shop robberies case; it’s been eleven months since she got the case, and she is ecstatic to finally have a lead, and her and Mike grin at each other across their desks as soon as their sergeant drops new files in front of them. Santana’s on the other side of the city right now, staying with her mom for a couple days to help her move into her new townhouse, so Brittany doesn’t mind staying and working late, not like she would mind if Santana was waiting at home for her (they haven’t broached the subject of moving in together yet, but Brittany can’t remember the last time they spent a night apart, and Brittany can’t help but think of Santana’s apartment as being _home_ , even if it’s only in her thoughts).

Brittany texts Santana and tells her that she’ll be staying late anyways, because she knows that Santana worries about her, and because she misses her already even though they said goodbye just this morning. Santana’s response make her smile and gives her exactly the pick-me-up Brittany needed, and she bounces out of the evidence room with a motivation that had just been starting to die. Mike high fives her as she passes him to drop into her desk across from his, and they start pouring over files with new vigour now that they have a tiny lead.

Brittany goes home around eight in the morning to have a quick shower and change her clothes, and Brittany’s apartment is lonelier than she ever remembers it being; and far more dusty because it’s been a such a long time since she’s spent a night here, and even longer since she’s spent a night _alone_ here. She doesn’t linger, even though she could go for a nap or a cup of coffee before she heads back to the precinct, because it’s so lonely and it just makes her miss Santana more than she ever thought she would.

The string of robberies was a pretty big case when they first got it, but it quickly becomes even bigger than they ever expected in just a couple days, and it quickly becomes even more personal than they ever wanted it to be.

The phone call comes in around two the next afternoon, day three of missing Santana, and for the first time since she met her, Brittany regrets getting so close to Santana because all of this new development in the case is definitely her fault. If she wasn’t assigned the case and if she never met Santana and if she never fell in love with her and if the head of this operation didn’t realize her and Mike were getting close to them and if the perps didn’t realize she is dating Santana then—

Brittany remains professional all throughout the phone call and throughout her sergeant’s sympathetic looks when she reads the report he gives her; she remains professional all the way until she escapes to the evidence room, and then the tears start to spill from her eyes before she even realizes it. The door opens a couple minutes later, and whoever walks in the room remains silent until Brittany’s ready; she knows it’s Mike, because Mike is her partner and he is always there, silent and waiting, for her.

“How am I going to do this?” Brittany finally croaks.

Mike shakes his head wordlessly. “I don’t know, Britt,” he sighs. “You have to go and talk to her, in person. You know you have to question her.”

Brittany tenses. “She didn’t do this,” she snaps, and she’s never felt more angry in her entire life. Her body is heavy and tight and she feels like she’s about to be torn apart; she starts pacing because that’s the only thing she can think to do to get this _anger_ out.

Mike just watches her with steady, patient, knowing eyes. “I know she didn’t. But it’s protocol.”

“Fuck protocol,” Brittany mutters darkly, stopping her pacing. She faces away from Mike and wipes her eyes before she turns to him. “I’m taking myself off the case after this,” she says, and Mike barely even looks surprised; he just smiles faintly as he nods, his dark eyes bright with understanding. “It’s not worth it. It’s not worth _her_.”

“Hey, I know, Britt,” Mike reassures her, “I know. I’ll come with you, that way I can cover for you, no matter what.”

Brittany breathes deeply and offers Mike a small smile. “Okay,” she whispers, “Thank you.”

Mike gives Brittany a quick hug. “Of course, partner.”

They drive to Santana’s mom’s new place in silence, the radio low and Brittany staring blankly out the windows. They get to the townhouse far quicker than Brittany wants too, and despite the almost forty minute drive, Brittany still has no clue what she’s going to say. Mike waits in the car, and Brittany’s legs grow heavier and heavier with every step she takes up the small townhouse. She knocks on the door, and an older woman with a stern face but kind eyes surrounded by laugh lines opens the door.

“Ms. Lopez,” Brittany greets, and the way that Santana’s mom’s eyes dart down to the badge on her hip and grow tight with defensive concern makes Brittany’s heart sink. This definitely wasn’t how she intended to meet her girlfriend’s mom for the very first time, and despite how heavy her heart is and the situation, she can’t help the tiniest smile that cracks her lips when she realizes that Santana has the exact same dark, deep eyes as her mom. “I’m Detective Pierce,” she introduces, “I’m looking for your daughter.”

Ms. Lopez’s eyes immediately shutter closed with defensiveness in a look so familiar that Brittany’s heart aches. “What’s this about?” she demands.

Brittany tries to stifle her sad sigh, but based on the aching in her heart and how Ms. Lopez’s eyes shift and turn shrewd, she doesn’t quite succeed. “It’s about the shop,” she says, and she can feel the weight of the world heavy on her shoulders, curving them inwards and making her feel small. 

Ms. Lopez’s face falls at Brittany’s dejected posture, and she’s calling for her daughter before she even realizes it. Santana appears quickly, and she _lights_ up when she sees Brittany on the porch, and that, more than anything else in this entire, awful day, _breaks_ Brittany’s heart. She’s wearing one of Brittany’s NYPD hoodies, and Brittany knows how the sleeves fall past her fingers so she has rolled them up to her elbows, her eyes are bright and her cheeks are dimpled deep and she’s never looked more beautiful; she’s standing barely three feet from Brittany and Brittany _still_ misses her.

“Britt?” Santana asks in confusion, and Brittany wonders if her eyes look as dull as they feel. Santana’s eyes dart down to her badge like her mom’s did just minutes ago, and the realization that Brittany’s on duty is quickly covered by sudden, bright worry. “What’s going on? Why are you here? On duty?”

Brittany swallows and chews on her bottom lip, her heart already breaking even more. “It’s protocol,” she whispers. 

“Britt,” Santana breathes, and she looks like she’s bracing herself for a knock out blow; Brittany suddenly _hates_ herself because she’s the one who has to deliver it.

Brittany shakes her head, and tears spring to her eyes. She looks up at Santana; Santana her girlfriend and her best friend and her family and the only person who _gets_ her all rolled up into one person, Santana the most amazing and hard-working person she knows, Santana with the infinity eyes and the forever smile, Santana who Brittany’s pretty sure she’ll love for the rest of her life and even after. Brittany’s heart breaks and she takes a deep, steadying breath in through her nose.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” she says, and even though it’s breaking protocol she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care because she’s going to have to take herself off this case once she gets back to the precinct, she doesn’t care because her captain will look at her with those understanding eyes and tell her to go spend time with her girlfriend, she doesn’t care because she’s breaking the heart of the girl she promised to love forever even though she swore she never would be the one to hurt her. “There’s been a fire,” she rasps, and Santana’s eyes shatter and her face breaks open. “At the shop,” she clarifies because she has to get through this protocol before she can take herself off the case, “I’m so sorry.”

Ms. Lopez looks between them with wide, anguished eyes, quickly putting two and two together before she fades back into the house; her daughter and Brittany don’t notice, standing there across a threshold and, somehow, Brittany’s never felt so far away. “How bad?” Santana croaks.

Brittany just shakes her head. She hasn’t seen the shop yet, she couldn’t bring herself to without Santana, but the report— The report looked pretty bad. Santana sucks in a breath when Brittany doesn’t say anything and Brittany realizes she’s trembling, but she has to get through this protocol, she has too—

When tears slip down Santana’s cheeks and she slaps a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob Brittany’s only thought is _fuck protocol_ as she instantly steps forward and pulls Santana across the threshold and into her chest. She trusts Mike, both with her life and with her job, and she knows that he’ll never tell a soul about this; and even if he did, she can’t bring herself to care. Santana sobs into her neck and Brittany can do little more than rub soothing circles across Santana’s back and pressing gentling kisses to her head, trying to console the inconsolable. “Just breathe, okay?” Brittany murmurs into Santana’s hair, and she’s never felt more helpless in her entire life. “Just breathe. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” she promises, “Not ever.”


	7. red tulips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 21. “Who hurt you?”

The damage to the shop is not nearly as bad as Brittany thought it would be but it’s— It’s still bad. Santana tries to be strong, but as soon as she walks in the door and sees the blackened walls and the charred remains of flowers tears spring to her eyes as she takes in the scorched remains of everything she’s worked for since she was eighteen years old. Brittany is right beside her, and she quickly wraps her girlfriend in a hug; she’s not a detective right now, right now she’s just a woman trying to comfort her girlfriend on one of the worst days of her life.

Brittany takes some time off of work to help Santana rebuild; Santana insists that she doesn’t have to, but Brittany wants to, and when she sees the relief creasing Santana’s eyes the first day when Brittany rolls her sleeves up and starts clearing away burnt flowers, she knows she made the right choice.

Mike keeps her updated on the case, even though he’s technically not supposed to, and Brittany kind of loves him for it. She only talks to him when Santana is in the shower, because despite Santana’s reassurances, Brittany’s insides crawl with guilt. It’s almost a week after the fire, Santana’s at the apartment taking an evening shower and Brittany’s on her way back from a run to clear her head, passing the flower shop and feeling her stomach twist with guilt at the boarded up windows, when Mike calls her to update her. She’s answers through her headphone microphone, and he explains that he’s pinned down the head of the robberies, an upcoming mob boss with a reputation to build, and he’s just waiting on some final paperwork and the captain’s approval before he makes a move on them. 

Brittany senses the shadows in the ally by the flower shop before she sees them, and she’s pretty sure it’s only her dancer-quick reflexes that stop her from getting a crowbar to the head; Mike starts yelling in her ears but all Brittany can do is grunt in response. There’s three of them, each one bigger and uglier and dumber looking than the last, and fear mixed with adrenaline courses through her as she ducks under a punch. All she can think about is how easy it would have been for them to jump Santana if she were checking on the shop by herself, and her heart crawls into her throat. Brittany’s no Hulk, but she manages to hold her own, ducking and weaving and spinning around them, only throwing her own punches when she’s positive they’ll land; but she was just on the last stretch of her run and she’s quickly growing exhausted. Her phone tumbles onto the sidewalk when one of them grabs a hold of her headphones and yanks, and Mike’s still frantically yelling over the line as the earbuds are ripped out of her ears.

Brittany grunts when she lands a punch into a stomach, swinging up and back with her elbow and stepping out of the circle they’re trying to herd her into. She catches a nose with her elbow, and there’s a satisfying crunch and an echoing ache in her arm. They manage to land a couple good blows, and Brittany spits blood when one of them manages to get her in the nose. Her eyes blur and she only barely ducks under crow-bar-man’s swing; the hard metal grazes her shoulder and pain explodes throughout her back and arm. She kicks one in the crotch, and he sinks down to his knees with a howl, but she’s gasping for breathe now and she’s desperately searching for an escape when the remaining two lunge at her. She dodges one of them but the other manages to get her arm and twists it behind her back, holding her squirming body in place while the other one starts punching her in the stomach. She screams in pain and kicks wildly, her ears ringing and the blood she can taste in her mouth growing more bitter. She catches the guy holding her in the knee and causes him to grunt and stumble but not loosen his grip and then, Brittany doesn’t know how, but suddenly Mike is there with a couple uniforms, his gun pointed at the guy who’s about to punch Brittany in the face.

Mike and the uniforms arrest the three perps with very little fanfare, and Mike fusses over Brittany while he takes her statement. It’s a pretty easy one to give; three criminals jumped an off duty cop because she got too close to the truth, and Mike’s eyes are harder than Brittany’s ever seen them when he glances at the patrol cars the perps sit in. He offers her a ride to the hospital, but Brittany quickly refuses; she has a bunch of increasingly worried text messages and voicemails from Santana and, in all honestly, she just wants to go home and get cleaned up and curl up next to Santana and sleep, the paperwork and doctor checkups can wait. (Brittany doesn’t notice her slip up, but Mike’s brows rise when she says _home_ and a small, happy smile settles on his face as Brittany waves goodbye and heads for Santana’s apartment; he really couldn’t be happier for his partner.)

Brittany puts her key in the lock (the one Santana blushingly gave to her three months ago), but the door swings open before Brittany even has a chance to turn the key. Santana stands there with the most worried and terrified look Brittany has ever seen on another person; the fear eases as soon as she lays eyes on Brittany but the worry remains as she takes in her bruised and bloody girlfriend, and Brittany belatedly realizes she probably should have cleaned herself up a little bit so she didn’t scare Santana, or, at the very least, spit out some blood or something.

“Brittany! Thank _god_!” Santana cries, reaching for Brittany and fiercely embracing her. “You weren’t answering your phone at all and you were taking so long on your run and I— I thought the worst.” She pulls back and carefully cups Brittany’s face, taking in the blood still dripping from her nose and mingling with the sluggishly weeping split lip, the black eye starting to form around her left eye and the yellowish bruise on her temple, the way her hair is messy and limp, the way she stands awkwardly with one arm and shoulder held stiffly, the painful looking bloody and bruised knuckles, the twist of pain on her pretty features.

“Britt,” Santana breathes, shaking her head in heart-stopping worry, “You’re—” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head again. “I was thinking the worst and it just— You’re— You’re so hurt,” she whimpers.

Brittany lets herself be gently pulled over the threshold. She’s about to tell Santana that she’s had worse, but she realizes just in time that that probably won’t make things better. “Do you think you could help me clean up?” she asks instead, and something deep in Santana’s eyes shifts and settles. 

She leans up and kisses Brittany with such tenderness that Brittany’s pretty sure her heart crawls out of her chest and into Santana’s. “Of course,” Santana breathes. She takes Brittany’s hand and leads her to the bathroom, and Brittany can feel Santana growing more and more tense with each step; she draws hearts on the fleshy part of Santana’s thumb with her own, hoping to soothe her, but it doesn’t really work. 

“Who hurt you?” Santana suddenly demands as they enter the bathroom, and the fire and anger in her eyes as she turns both shocks and comforts Brittany, makes her feel safe and protected and loved.

Brittany shakes her head, wincing as Santana guides her onto the side of the tub. “It doesn’t matter,” she mumbles, hoping the blood in her mouth stays there so she doesn’t freak Santana out more than she needs to, “Mike arrested them. He arrested them all. It’s over now.”

Santana freezes in her frantic motions to put together a makeshift first aid kit, gauze in one hand and Bactine in the other. “You mean,” she starts to ask but immediately trails off, trying not to get her hopes up.

Brittany nods but instantly regrets it. She reaches for Santana instead, her hands finding Santana’s hips and tugging her towards her. Santana lets herself be pulled between Brittany’s legs easily, brushing stray blonde hair back from Brittany’s face with all the care in the world, and Brittany’s heart aches with love for this girl. “They’re all taken care off.” Santana breathes a deep sigh of gratitude and gives Brittany a small, relieved smile. She kisses Brittany on the forehead, her warm lips lingering there and soothing the headache Brittany can feel building. Santana carefully wipes grime and sweat and blood from Brittany’s face, starting at her hairline and working across each temple before starting on her cheeks. Brittany traces small patterns across Santana’s hips, and despite the ache in her body, she starts to relax under Santana’s gentle, loving ministrations.

“I’m sorry,” Brittany mutters suddenly, hissing and wincing when Santana dabs at her bloodied nose.

Santana frowns so deeply her eyes become slits of brown confusion. “What for?” she asks softly.

Brittany shrugs even though it hurts. “If you didn’t start dating me they wouldn’t have re-targeted your shop and burnt it down when I started closing in on them and—”

Santana cuts her off with a kiss so fierce it makes Brittany’s nose and lip hurt; she doesn’t really care though, not when Santana’s hands are stroking her face with such care that Brittany feels like crying, not when Santana is warm and solid against her as she kisses Brittany, long and fervent and _deep_. “I don’t care about that,” Santana rasps when she finally pulls back, carefully wiping blood and spit from Brittany’s lips with her thumb and Brittany’s heart thuds. “I should care, but if the price of my shop is _you_ , getting to know you and falling in love with you and spending the rest of my life with you, it’s worth it. I’d rebuild my shop and let it burn down a hundred times just for the tiny chance to fall in love with you.”

Brittany feels doubt flutter within her chest for a split second before it’s replaced with bright warmth and butterflies. “The Fire Marshall might start to get suspicious,” Brittany says softly, and Santana smiles all dimples deep and crinkled eyes and scrunched nose, and Brittany knows that Santana knows that she _gets_ it now, that the ruined shop is something that can be fixed because they’ll be fixing it together now. Brittany would take a hundred beatings for Santana, and then she’d take a hundred more, because Santana is her girl with the infinity eyes and the forever smile and Brittany knows that they have the rest of their lives ahead of them to rebuild Santana’s flower shop.


	8. anthurium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 14. “I can’t do this on my own.”

 

Santana insists on Brittany staying with her until she’s completely healed, and Brittany definitely won’t argue with her girlfriend about being doted on. She’s never really been a person who enjoyed being pampered while she was sick or injured but, as with most things, Santana is her one exception. Santana takes time off of repairing the shop to care for Brittany, helping her change her bandages everyday and getting her pain meds whenever she needs them and cooking for her every evening and cuddling her to sleep whenever she gets tired (and helping Brittany shower since she can’t raise her one arm high enough to wash her hair, but Brittany’s pretty sure that Santana has ulterior motives with that one — not that she’s complaining, like, at _all_.)

Santana’s mom gives Brittany a couple days to heal before she starts calling her daughter and inviting herself over and insisting on cooking for them after she heard about Brittany getting jumped. Brittany was beside herself with nerves; she’s been so worried since her first meeting with Ms. Lopez that no amount of reassuring on Santana’s part could calm her down (thoug Santana knows that Brittany’s worries are sorely misplaced; her mom already _adores_ Brittany).

Supper goes perfectly, and Brittany somehow manages to charm her mom every more than she did last time, and before she knows it, her mom is carefully hugging Brittany in the doorway and scolding her for not getting enough rest, and then scolding Santana for not taking care of her girlfriend more. Santana knows how her mother is, so she just rolls her eyes fondly and ushers the older woman out the door, promising to call her tomorrow and let her know how the frozen meals she made and brought over are.

Brittany finally relaxes once Santana’s mom is safely driving away, and Santana can’t help her giddy giggle as she throws her arms over Brittany’s shoulders. “She told you to call her Maribel,” Santana says dreamily. Brittany chuckles and nods, anchoring her hands on Santana’s hips and tugging her closer. “She never tells anyone that,” Santana confesses with a small, adoring smile, “She _loves_ Mercedes and only told her to start calling her that, like, two years ago.”

Brittany freezes. “Really?” she rasps.

Santana nods and kisses Brittany’s nose. “Really really,” she promises. Santana hopes that this will be enough to convince Brittany that she made the perfect first impression last week; her mom couldn’t stop talking about how perfect Brittany was despite the news she had to deliver (Santana knows it’s because her mom definitely spied on them from the living room, but she decided not to tell Brittany that quite yet just in case it freaked her out even more.)

Brittany’s still a little dazed when Santana rises up to kiss her, but Santana’s lips on hers quickly refocuses her. “Will you believe me now when I say she _adores_ you,” Santana asks teasingly. Brittany blushes all the way to her the tips of her ears as she nods. “Good,” Santana says as she kisses Brittany again.

Brittany sighs into Santana’s mouth and slips her fingers under Santana’s shirt. “Come to bed?” she asks, scratching lightly at Santana’s warm skin.

Santana sighs deeply. “I gotta finish cleaning up first, babe.”

“Will you let me help?” Brittany asks as she presses herself closer.

Santana grins and carefully trails her fingers over Brittany’s still sore sides. “Nope,” she rejects easily, and as much as Brittany would like to, she knows she doesn’t stand a chance at arguing with that smile on her girlfriend’s face.

“Fine,” Brittany pouts, reluctantly pulling away from Santana and heading for Santana’s bedroom.

“Actually, Britt,” Santana says suddenly, and there’s something weirdly anxious in her voice. Brittany turns and finds her girlfriend playing with her hands, chewing on her bottom lip and looking at Brittany with wide, searching eyes. “I can’t do this on my own,” she says, and the dimpled, nervous smile that’s spreading across her face and the way her dark eyes bore into Brittany’s own with something more serious than putting the dishes away makes Brittany’s heart stop.

“What are you saying?” Brittany whispers, but she’s quickly finding it impossible too stop her own smile from spreading.

Santana takes a deliberate step towards Brittany and grins up at her. “I’m saying, Detective Brittany S. Pierce, will you move in with me?”

Brittany squeals and surges towards Santana, forgetting about her sore arm and still healing ribs, wrapping Santana up in her arms and spinning them around until all she can see is Santana’s dark hair in her face and all she can hear is Santana giggling in her ear and all she can feel is unimaginable happiness. She lets Santana slide down her body until she can fuse their lips together, sighing in pure, unbridled joy when Santana continues giggling into her mouth.

“Is that a yes?” Santana asks breathlessly when she pulls away.

Brittany shakes her head fondly and rocks backwards until Santana’s pressed all along her body and her feet have left the floor again. “Of _course_ it’s a yes, honey,” Brittany laughs, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted since the first time you called me your girlfriend.”

Santana’s smile is blinding when she shakes her head. “I love you so much,” she breathes, and Brittany doesn’t even have time to return the sentiment before Santana’s lips are on hers; she doesn’t think it really matters though, she’s pretty sure Santana already knows.


	9. peony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snixxwrath asked: 99. “Don’t you ever change.”

Despite agreeing to move in, it takes a couple weeks before they’re actually moving the first of Brittany’s boxes into Santana’s apartment. Brittany’s off work, so she starts to slowly pack up all of her stuff, everything she’s accumulated ever since she first moved to the city, fresh out of the academy, all those years ago. It’s _really_ slow going, what with Brittany only really having full use of one arm and all (Brittany wants to be moved into Santana’s apartment, like, yesterday, but a crowbar to the shoulder will really slow you down, as Brittany has learned over the past few weeks).

Santana’s busy with the shop during the day; with Mercedes already flown out to L.A. to record some demos even before the fire, Santana is left with just some part-time staff, some better than other. She comes home exhausted, more often than not, complaining loudly about the laziness of her staff (the only person she doesn’t complain about is Jane, and Brittany’s pretty sure, aside from being Jane actually being really hard worker, Santana has a huge soft spot for the girl; Brittany’s pretty sure that Santana would promote her to assistant manager if she wasn’t waiting to hear if Mercedes is coming back). During the evening, Santana makes room for Brittany in her apartment, in her life, and it’s easier than either of them thought it would be. Santana doesn’t find she minds rearranging her stuff and getting rid of old things when she knows she’s doing it to make room for Brittany. 

They’ve practically been living together for months now in everything but name; Brittany had already taken over a couple dresser drawers and a section of the closet, her shampoo and conditioner and razor had ended up in Santana’s shower long ago, her toothbrush had a spot beside Santana’s a couple weeks after they first spent the night together, and there’s a cupboard of Brittany’s favourite snacks to take to work in the kitchen. But there’s something different and thrilling now that they are _officially_ moving in together, that all of Brittany’s useless little things and her pictures and her dress uniforms and childhood knickknacks, all the things that make her place _hers_ , will now be in Santana’s apartment and make the place _theirs_.

It’s an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, until it is suddenly the best Tuesday of Brittany’s life. Santana shows up at her apartment around one, dressed in the cutest overalls ever and her old sneakers; she wears her brightest smile, the one that reveals her dimples and scrunches her nose, and Brittany can’t really help it when she swoops towards Santana and kisses her, deep and enthusiastic and wholehearted.

“Hi,” Brittany whispers when she pulls back.

Santana bumps her nose against Brittany’s and giggles. “Hi.”

“You’re early,” Brittany says. “Like, four hours early. What are you doing here?”

Santana’s smile widens and her eyes soften and Brittany _melts_. “According to Jane I was too ‘jittery’ to be of any help at the shop, so she chased me off.” 

Brittany grins and kisses Santana again, and then again, and then again, and then a couple more times after that because every time she pulls back, Santana’s adorable dimply face just makes the urge to kiss her even stronger. Brittany’s pretty sure that the urge to kiss Santana will never go away, because no matter how many times or how long she kisses Santana, she never seems to be sated. Eventually, Santana forces herself away with a giggle, quickly kissing Brittany’s pouting bottom lip before she slips past Brittany and into the apartment, pausing in the living room where all of Brittany’s life is packed into twelve neatly taped boxes. Brittany follows after Santana and wraps her in a hug from behind; she really doesn’t want to be any farther from Santana than she needs to be. 

Santana gives her a warning look that’s belied by the adoration crinkling her eyes. “Watch it, Pierce,” she threatens toothlessly, “We’ve got work to do.”

Brittany kisses that sensitive spot right below Santana’s ears and grins when Santana’s breath hitches. Even though Brittany wants to just stay right here, nuzzling into Santana’s warm body, she wants to move into Santana’s apartment even more, so she reluctantly untangles herself from Santana and moves to the pile of boxes. Santana doesn’t say anything as she follows Brittany and hefts a box into her arms, but her smile tells Brittany all she needs to know. They get all of the boxes downstairs and packed into Santana’s car (Santana can’t really see out of the back, but she just smiles and shrugs and kisses Brittany). Brittany’s already had a couple people come through to look at her apartment, and it was sold before she knew it, so they lock up Brittany’s place for the last time and Santana holds her hand all the way back to the car, and then keeps holding it the entire drive back to Santana’s apartment — to _their_ apartment.

They unload the car and have all of Brittany’s boxes spread throughout the living room and bedroom before suppertime. They order takeout for an early supper and eat curled up on the couch before they start unpacking all the boxes. They finish the living room first; hanging up Brittany’s Law Enforcement Diploma up beside Santana’s Small Business of the Year Award, adding photos of Brittany’s childhood to the empty spots beside Santana’s, putting some of the decor Brittany’s had for years on the coffee tables and on the shelves where it fits in with Santana’s furniture and paint colour seamlessly. 

They move on to the bedroom: Brittany hangs her work clothes up in the closet and shoving pajamas and underwear beside Santana’s in the dresser while Santana unpacks all of the little knickknacks that Brittany has collected over the years.

Brittany’s in the closet when she hears Santana gasp from where she’s perched on the bed unpacking one of the last boxes. Brittany emerges from the closet and immediately freezes when she realizes what’s in Santana’s hands. 

Santana looks up at her with a smile so wide it makes it look like her dimples might permanently indent her cheeks. “You still have your first detective’s badge?” she asks, her voice warm and melty as she carefully traces the toddler-sized toy with a delicate finger.

“Oh, uh,” Brittany stutters, blushing furiously. This is the woman she wants to spend the rest of her life with, and she really doesn’t want her to think she’s childish for keeping something that seems kind of dumb now that Brittany’s thinking about it. She kicks one leg behind her and starts chewing harshly on her lip. “I— We don’t— I forgot that was in there. Just— Just look the other way and I’ll toss it out.”

Santana clutches the toy badge to her chest with an adoring smile. “Are you kidding? It’s so adorable, I love it!”

Brittany frowns and plays with the hem of her sweater. “Really?” she mumbles. She’s looking down, so she doesn’t notice when Santana gets off the bed and takes quick steps towards her until Santana’s hands are on her jaw, tipping her head up to meet Santana’s eyes, which are so deep that Brittany’s pretty sure she might drown in them. Santana’s got that soft, dimpled, _I love you so much_ smile of hers on her face and Brittany swoons. 

“I _love_ it,” Santana promises, “because I _love_ you. Don’t you ever change.”

Brittany sighs and turns her face to kiss Santana’s thumb where it’s brushing her cheek. “I love you,” she murmurs.

Santana beams up at her and bounces up on her toes to kiss her, long and deep. “I love you too,” she whispers, “Welcome home.”

Brittany’s pretty sure she’s never heard anything so beautiful.


	10. pansies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 66. “Please don’t go.”

Brittany kind of thought that living together would be more of an adjustment than it is. There’s a few kinks they have to work out, like shower schedules (which they still take together more often than not; Brittany can raise her arm above her head now but not for very long — something that she does exploit just a _little_ ), and getting Brittany’s name on the lease (which is more complicated than either of them thought it would be due to their landlord’s homophonic husband hanging around, and Brittany ends up soothing more than a few tears), and figuring out chores (Santana does laundry far more than Brittany does, due to her coming home covered in bits of flowers and fresh drywall more often than not), and what shows they want to binge (Santana likes to watch mindless shows that she doesn’t need to think too hard about, Brittany loves watching horror movies and thriller shows, in the end they both accomplish the same thing: More cuddles).

But Brittany loves that; she loves figuring out all the little things about living with Santana, she loves that they have a _home_ together now, that she never has to sleepily stumble out of Santana’s apartment at six in the morning because she forgot to grab more than one change of clothes, that she never has to belatedly realize that she left her phone charger plugged in beside Santana’s bed, that she never has to lay in her empty room and try to fall asleep to the silence that echoes around her room and miss her girlfriend on the other side of the city.

She just loves that she gets to come home to the love of her life every single day.

Brittany’s back at work by now, just on desk duty. She gets off right at four thirty every day now and goes to help out at the flower shop for an hour before her and Santana walk home, their fingers intwined. They have their own little schedule worked out, a system that works flawlessly, and Brittany is a little bit in love with every tiniest aspect of her life now.

It’s a Friday when Santana catches an awful flu, and Brittany spends her day at work constantly checking her phone. Santana sometimes drifts away from Brittany in the middle of the night, but she usual never ends up very far. However, this morning, Santana had kicked off the blankets and her hair was matted to her face with a light sheen of sweat. Brittany had reached out to brush the dark hair from Santana’s eyes and winced at the heat she felt against her hand. She leaned over her girlfriend to press her lips to Santana’s forehead, and Santana woke with a croaking groan. “Hurts,” Santana had mumbled, and Brittany’s heart broke. Santana insisted she was fine, despite calling in sick for the first time since Brittany’s known her, and sent Brittany off to work, holding her blanket around her like a cape, her eyes fever-bright and her nose bright red and dripping. 

When Brittany gets home, barely fifteen minutes after she got off at four thirty on the dot, she finds Santana curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Her wheezing, breathy, snores fill the apartment, and there’s a nearly empty Kleenex box on the coffee table, contrasting with the too full bathroom garbage can beside the couch. A half full cup of cold tea sits beside Santana’s glasses (the ones Brittany found out about nearly three months into dating Santana, the ones she thinks are absolutely adorable on her girlfriend). A bag of sodacrackers is open, but it looks like Santana only nibbled on a couple throughout the day.

Brittany’s chest cracks open and aches at how miserable her girlfriend looks, and she crouches beside the couch and brushes Santana’s hair to the side. Santana stirs and cloudy brown eyes flutter open. “Hey, honey,” Brittany murmurs, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just crawled up from hell,” Santana croaks.

Brittany pouts and keeps stroking her fingers through Santana’s hair. “Do you want me to make some soup?”

Santana’s nose wrinkles. “Not hungry,” she whines childishly.

Brittany can’t help it: She leans forward to softly kiss Santana’s forehead, feeling dark eyelashes flutter across her chin. “You should eat something today,” she says. “Or at least start drinking.”

“Mami always says to drink water,” Santana rasps.

Brittany bites back a smile. “That’s the nurse in her talking,” she agrees, “But she’s right. You need to get hydrated.”

Santana grunts in agreement but makes no move to move. Brittany goes to kiss Santana’s forehead again, but suddenly finds herself shoved backwards onto her heels; she’s confused for all of a second before Santana’s in the middle of a coughing fit, the painful one that sounds like it’s being torn right out of her chest. “Honey,” Brittany coos once the fit subsides and Santana’s left looking more exhausted than before. “Let’s get you to bed, I’ll bring you some soup, okay?”

Santana turns tired, fever-bright eyes on her and nods pathetically. Brittany urges her up, catching her as soon as her knees start to buckle. Santana sighs as Brittany just scoops her up into her arms, blanket and all, and carries her into their bedroom. She lays her down on the bed and helps her rearrange her blankets before promising to be right back and heading to the kitchen to heat up some soup. She quickly changes into her pajamas while the soup’s heating up, and chugs a mug of her own before shutting all the lights off and double checking the lock on the front door and heading back to the bedroom.

Santana’s dozing off when enters the bedroom, and she coaxes her awake and slides in behind Santana, holding her soothingly while Santana sips at the mug of soup Brittany’s urged into her hands. Once she’s finished it, Brittany slips out from behind Santana and sets the empty mug down on her bedside table. 

Santana’s fingers curl into Brittany’s shirt and are surprisingly strong when they start tugging insistently at her. “Please don’t go,” she mumbles.

Brittany melts and sinks into the bed to draw Santana into the circle of her arms. “Of course I won’t,” she promises quietly, “I’d never leave you. You’re my home.”

Santana lets out an airy sigh and cuddles closer to her, pressing her lips softly to Brittany’s neck, the pressure so light that it’s only Brittany’s hyperawareness regarding all things Santana that she feels it. Santana’s curled into a ball against Brittany, one arm thrown over Brittany’s stomach and the other clutching her shirt, her face buried in the space between Brittany’s shoulder and neck. “Love you,” Santana mumbles.

“Love you too,” Brittany whispers. She slowly trails her fingers up and down Santana’s arm, coaxing her to sleep. Santana snores almost all night, her nose so stuffed up it sounds painful, broken only by Santana’s awful cough; Brittany’s uncomfortably warm the entire night, but Santana just keeps cuddling close to Brittany, the furrow in her brow and the frown on her face only relaxing under Brittany’s gentle caresses. Brittany doesn’t really care that she doesn’t get much sleep that night, Santana’s clinginess while she’s sick is pretty cute and it makes Brittany’s insides all warm and fluttery at how loved and needed she feels.

On Monday, Brittany wakes up feeling achy and sweaty, with Santana’s lips on her forehead. “You have a fever, Britt-Britt,” she whispers.

“Fuck,” Brittany groans.

Santana smiles against her forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you this time.”


	11. daffodil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 58. “I’ve made a mistake.”

Eventually, they both get over the flu and Santana’s flower shop is almost ready to be reopened. Brittany knows Santana’s anxious to get back to work because she keeps zoning out and playing with her hands. There’s tension in her shoulders and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes all the time, so Brittany makes it her personal mission to help Santana relax. It doesn’t work all the time, but whenever Santana’s nose scrunches and her eyes sparkle with laughter, Brittany can’t help the pride that flutters in her chest knowing she’s the reason for her the tension melting out of her girlfriend’s body.

She offers to go with Santana to the shop a couple days before its reopening and help with some last minute things. Santana fidgets with Brittany’s fingers the entire way over, and Brittany lets her. The air’s starting to turn sharp with the scent of coming rains and new growth; the mornings and evenings stay cool and the afternoon sun warms the spring puddles. Santana shivers and Brittany quickly shrugs out of her jacket and drapes it over Santana’s shoulders before she can argue. Santana blushes, Brittany can tell because she gets that dopey, bashful smile and her eyes dart down as her chin dips towards her chest. Her fingers still in Brittany’s and she curls closer to her in the spring breeze. 

They make it to the shop in good time. The sign above the shop has been updated because of the smoke damage it suffered; the bells above the door jingle as the step through the door, and Santana starts playing with Brittany’s fingers again. Brittany hasn’t actually seen the shop for a while, she’s gotten pretty busy with her cases and she has a feeling that Santana has been trying to keep Brittany away from the shop for some reason (Brittany’s pretty sure it’s Santana’s growing fear and anxiety about the reopening, but she doesn’t push Santana, just patiently waits for her to invite her in again). 

The walls are now a soft cream colour with pale blue accents that look suspiciously like the exact same shade as Brittany’s eyes (Brittany doesn’t notice, but Santana remembers how easy it was to pick out that shade of blue out of the paint shop samples and she closely inspects the front display to hide her sudden flush of embarrassment). Santana had helped the architect design the new layout; the fire hadn’t completely destroyed the shop, but Santana had decided, along with the insurance money and Brittany’s urging support, she was successful enough to warrant a little bit of a renovation along with the repairs. The cash register and wrapping area is now in the middle of the shop in a small island with thick counters, and the coolers are where the cash register used to be along the back wall. Islands of flowers dot the shop in complimentary colours that Brittany knows Santana would have spent hours choosing and re-choosing what flowers and colours and vases to put where. The new layout is really cute and suits Santana far better than the space she made work because she didn’t have another option; looking around the shop, Brittany can _feel_ all the love and sweat and tears that went into making this place perfect. 

At the front of the island, right where every single person who walks into the store will see before anything else, are sprinklings of daisies, and Brittany blushes and bites her lip to try and contain the butterflies fluttering around her stomach; the first time Brittany brought Santana flowers, she picked out daisies because they had always made her happy, and it wasn’t until months later when Santana explained the meaning behind each flower did she realize what a big deal it was. Daisies, Santana had said, her voice softer and more delicate than Brittany had ever heard, generally symbolized innocence and purity, new beginnings, and true love. It was that last one that had sent a lightning arc of adoration and love shooting through Brittany’s chest as she realized what that first bouquet of flowers really meant, especially to Santana.

Santana’s walking along the back wall, inspecting the coolers and doing temperature checks while Brittany stares at the display of daisies, delicately tracing the petals of some with her fingertips, her head thudding in her ears and her chest blooming with love all over again. As she wanders the store, Brittany’s eyes keep drifting to Santana’s. She can only see the back of Santana’s head and her shoulders from where she stands; she’s not quite sure how she knows, but she somehow knows that Santana is filling with nerves every second that brings them closer to the opening day.

“Hey, Britt?” Santana calls, startlingly Brittany out of her musings with a small jump. Brittany clears her throat and makes a sound of acknowledgement. “Can you find the temperature check sheet,” she asks, “I think it’s somewhere in the middle island. Maybe underneath the cash register?”

Brittany quickly agrees and crosses the store to slip behind the hinged bar counter on the island, kneeling down and searching for the papers Santana needs. As she shifts through the things on the shelves under the cash register, something rustles near the back and Brittany crouches further under the counter to locate the elusive papers.

“Fuck!” Santana suddenly shouts from the other side of the shop.

Brittany jumps and hits her head on the underside of the counter, muttering a curse herself as she stands up. “What’s wrong?” Brittany calls.

Santana stands stiffly, facing away from her, but Brittany can see the tension in her back even from across the store. “I’ve made a mistake,” she hisses. “This is— It’s all wrong. I don’t—” Santana cuts herself off with a frustrated growl, and then her shoulders rolls in and she completely deflates. “I don’t even know if I want to reopen the store,” she admits in a broken whisper.

Brittany’s curiosity shifts into worry so quickly it makes her stomach twist violently. “Santana?” she asks, but Santana doesn’t answer her.

“I just want this place to go back to normal,” she whispers.

Brittany can’t see her face, but she can hear the tears in her voice, and her chest aches. She quickly ducks under the hinged counter and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Santana, moulding to her back and burying her face in the dark hair spread around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?” she murmurs in Santana’s ear.

Santana takes a shaky, watery breath and shakes her head. “These shelves— They’re not— And there’s still—”

Brittany nuzzles further into Santana, trapping her against her body and drawing soothing patterns across her stomach. Santana takes a deep breath and then melts back into Brittany, letting her girlfriend draw out the tension and anxiety in her body.

“Santana?” Brittany whispers. Santana doesn’t make any sound of acknowledgement, but the way she threads her fingers through Brittany’s tells Brittany all she needs to know. “I know how nervous you are about reopening the store,” it’s a testament to how anxious Santana is that she doesn’t even try to argue with Brittany, “That it will never be the same as it was or whatever, but trust me, it will all work out again.”

Santana breathes shakily and Brittany can feel how she chews on her lip by the way her jaw twitches against Brittany’s temple. “I just— What if everything falls apart again?”

“Then I’ll be right here with you to help pick up the pieces,” Brittany promises easily. It’s something she’s known almost as long as she’s known Santana, that she’ll always do whatever she can to help her with anything. For as long as Santana lets her, she’s never going to leave Santana alone because she’s always going to be right beside her holding her hand and facing whatever life throws at them. “So sure, maybe it won’t go right at the beginning. But people _love_ this shop; Trevor, that beat cop who always brings you to my desk when you bring me lunch, has been raving about your shop for, like, years. Long before I met you, at least. Every time I see him he asks when the shop’s going to reopen because you make the most beautiful bouquets and his boyfriend hasn’t gotten him any flowers since the fire because he can’t get them from you.”

Brittany can feel Santana’s pulse jump where her wrist is pressed to Brittany’s arm. “Really?” she whispers, and she sounds so soft and open and hopeful that Brittany falls in love with her all over again right in that moment.

“Really, really,” she promises. “His boyfriend gets him flowers from here, like, once a month at least.”

“Wait, is his boyfriend that guy with the weirdly perfect hair—”

“And those fancy glasses—”

“And he’s always wearing the floral dress shirts—”

“Yeah that’s him.”

Santana laughs, and despite how nervous and airy it is, it’s still genuinely delighted. “I can’t believe I never made the connection. I’ve been writing ‘For Trevor’ and delivering flowers to the precinct for almost as long as I’ve been open. I thought Trevor was just starstruck because he admired you so much.”

Brittany inwardly cheers as some of the tension starts to melt away from Santana’s muscles. “And,” Brittany continues, pressing her lips to the hinge of Santana’s jaw, “even if everything falls apart and the shop completely bombs, _I’ll_ still love you forever.”

Santana laughs softly and her cheek heats up against Brittany’s. “ _Thank_ you,” she murmurs, and Brittany knows it’s for more than just reassuring her today.

“Now,” Brittany whispers, tightening her arms around Santana, “Let’s get ready to make this opening on Sunday our bitch.”

Santana opens and blooms in Brittany’s arms, and she can almost feel the excitement overtake the nerves in Santana’s veins as she brightens. She twists in Brittany’s arms to lean up and kiss Brittany, soft and deep and appreciative. The kiss ends before Brittany wants it to (though she thinks that about all of their kisses), but her pout is quickly replaced by a grin when Santana starts to roll up the sleeves of Brittany’s jacket. “Let’s do this,” she says, and the determined and adoring sparkle in her eyes as she looks at Brittany makes Brittany _need_ to kiss her again, and considering the smile Brittany feels against her lips, Santana doesn’t mind the delayed start to putting the finishing touches on the shop one bit.


	12. statice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snixxwrath asked: 33. “No one is perfect.”

The opening goes perfectly, just as Brittany knew it would. There’s an outpouring of community support from the local business around the neighbourhood, and it makes Santana tear up a little; Trevor and his boyfriend come, Santana’s mom takes the subway down from Washington Heights, Mike comes during his lunch break, and even Mercedes surprises everyone by flying in from LA. Santana is the perfect shop owner, talking and joking with the customers who wander in, and Brittany is the proudest person in the world as she watches her girlfriend in her element. A couple of the regular customers, who have been fondly teasing Santana about her new lady love since even before their first official date, fuss over Brittany and the fading scar along her temple when the ring of one of the perps who jumped her scraped and caught along her skin. She assures them she’s fine and tries to redirect the conversation back to the opening, but she catches Santana’s warm, adoring gaze across the shop and her thoughts scatter, much to the amusement of the group around her.

Mercedes insists on staying in a hotel and Maribel drives back to Washington Heights despite Brittany and Santana’s insistence that they have plenty of room, and before either of them know it, they’re locking up the store up for the first time in over five weeks. Santana slips her hand into Brittany’s and smiles up at her, giddy and bright, and Brittany can’t really help it when she delays their walk home because she’s too busy kissing her smile into Santana’s mouth. Santana just sighs into the movement of Brittany’s mouth over hers, warm and comforting and exactly like coming home.

It’s June, so it’s clear and warm and, underneath the smells of the city, is the hint of summertime. The sun hasn’t started to dip below the horizon yet, so the streetlights only flicker on in the shadow of the old apartment buildings lining the west side of the street. Brittany squeezes Santana’s fingers briefly before glancing both ways and tugging Santana across the street and onto the sunny side of the sidewalk. Santana’s cheeks and shoulders warm as she turns them towards the sun and something bright and lifting flutters in her chest at the content look on Brittany’s face. They’re still walking, so Santana leans over to kiss Brittany’s shoulder and glances up quickly so she can catch the flutter of disbelief and happiness that always crosses Brittany’s features at the quiet domesticity of such simple acts of affection, as if she’s continuously grateful for something most people take for granted. Santana knows the exact feeling because, every time fingers tangle with hers or smiling blue eyes catch hers across a room or she hears the quiet putter of Brittany in the kitchen when she gets home, happy gratitude always fills her until she’s not quite sure what to do with it (she usually directs the warm, lifting feeling into kissing Brittany, who is always more than happy to oblige).

They don’t say anything as they cross their small section of the city, they don’t say anything as they wait for stoplights or duck under awnings to avoid people hurrying, they don’t say anything as Brittany tugs Santana down quiet streets and across busy intersections, they don’t say anything as Santana trails after Brittany in comfortable trust, they don’t say anything until Brittany slows to a stop in front of the window of a familiar cafe.

“Hey,” Santana says with a wide smile, “We haven’t been here in forever.”

Brittany gives Santana a soft smile. “Well, I figured we could come back here for old time’s sake, since our first anniversary is tomorrow and all.” 

Santana turns enough that she can grab Brittany’s other hand and tug her close to her body, she rises up on her tiptoes to press her forehead to Brittany’s, nudging their noses together and thinking of the gift she has carefully wrapped and hidden in an unused locker at the back of the store. “You’re incredible,” Santana whispers. “This is perfect, really, _you’re_ perfect.”

Brittany blushes, Santana can’t see it but she can feel it where Brittany’s cheeks almost brush hers. “No one is perfect,” Brittany protests, but it comes out breathy and soft.

“Maybe not,” Santana concedes, because she knows Brittany and she knows Brittany’s inability to see the best in herself sometimes, when the nightmares and unsolved cases pile up into nightmares, “But you treat me perfectly.”

Brittany smiles, her eyes scrunched up and her lips stretched thin. She kisses Santana instead of answering, and Santana feels her blush this time, right where the tip of her nose brushes the emerging freckles of Brittany’s cheek. Brittany’s thumbs smooth over the backs of Santana’s hands and Santana melts further into Brittany, almost feeling like she might float away if she doesn’t tether herself to Brittany. 

It’s the jangle of the bell that draws them slowly apart from each other, but Brittany doesn’t let Santana go far, nudging her nose along the side of Santana’s as they take a second to breathe this moment in, half hidden in the shady alcove between the cafe and the brick thrift store beside it. Coffee fills the air from the cafe, almost masking the stench of the city with it’s rich scent, but underneath all of that, she can smell the flower shop on Santana for the first time in over a month. Gone is the acrid smell of soot and ash and burned flowers that clung to Santana for the first couple weeks after the fire, and gone is the smell of fresh drywall and construction glue that clung to Santana in the following weeks of renovation, instead, all Brittany can smell is the bright, earthy scent of flowers and soil; it smells like springtime and sweet things, it smells of comfort and warmth, it smells of coming home.


	13. carnations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: 34. “You broke what?!?” // “Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD I reread this entire verse so I knew what was going on and the first chapters are So Old lmao. I’m probably going to finish this verse up soon because there’s a Large difference between my writing now and the writing from the beginning of this verse lol

With the official reopening of the flower shop and their one year anniversary behind them, Brittany officially goes back to full duty after weeks of physiotherapy. Aside from a small ache in her shoulder if she raises it above her head for too long and a small scar along her temple, there’s no evidence left of her attack. Mike is grateful to have her back as a fully functioning partner instead of having to be partnered to Jake Puckerman in the field; there’s nothing wrong with him, in fact he’s a pretty good detective despite the fact that he’s still pretty green, but Brittany and Mike have been partners since the academy and it’s more than a little weird to be partnered with someone else.

Of course it’s just their luck that they end up on a foot-chase during after knocking on their suspect’s door, and Brittany kind of wishes she had spent the last week going to the gym and working on her stamina there instead of spending the last week working on her stamina with Santana; but it’s only the briefest of thoughts because her lungs are burning and her legs are aching, she wouldn’t trade spending time with Santana for anything in the world.

It all kind of happens in a blur, but one minute she’s rounding the corner of an alleyway after Mike, shouting at their suspect to stop fleeing, and the next she’s tripping over her partner sprawled on the ground. She lands heavily on her hands and knees and skids along the cement until her head collides with the edge of a dumpster, stumbling up as Mike urges her to keep chasing the suspect from where he’s groaning on the ground. The alley is thankfully a dead end, and despite how her head spins she manages to corner the suspect and slap a pair of cuffs on him. She drags him towards the mouth of the alley to check on Mike, her stomach churning when she realizes his left arm is pointing in decidedly the wrong direction. She quickly calls dispatch for an ambulance and a squad car, both of whom arrive at almost the same time, making sure the uniforms that arrive take care of their suspect before she convinces the paramedics to let her ride to the hospital with them.

After almost an hour, Brittany finally ends up in a room just down the hallway from Mike. Her phone is still in the car her and Mike took, but she’s hoping that someone will lend her theirs so she can call Santana; her shift isn’t technically over so Santana’s not missing her yet, but she needs to let her girlfriend know what happened. She sighs as she waits for a nurse or doctor to show up, holding an ice pack to her head and prodding at the scrapes on her knees. She’s so lost in inspecting her torn skin that she doesn’t even hear the curtain open until the nurse is speaking.

“Detective Pierce,” she greets fondly, “It’s been a while since I’ve had to stitch you up.”

Brittany brightens and smiles at Pauline; she’s been stitching Brittany up since she was in the academy, and she’s always reminded Brittany a little bit of her mother, with her wild blonde hair and impish smile.

“I heard about your shoulder,” Pauline tuts as she reviews Brittany’s chart. “And I see that despite the fact that you just got back to work today, you’re already at it again.”

Brittany just grins widely and shrugs innocently.

Pauline shakes her head with a small smile and sets the chart down on the counter before reaching for Brittany’s injured arm and hand. It’s covered in cuts and gravel that will need a couple stitches, the knees of her pants are ripped and torn and reveal road rash, and she’s definitely got a minor concussion from sliding headfirst into that dumpster, but other than that Brittany is actually in pretty good shape. 

“I heard you went and got all shacked up,” Pauline says conversationally, trying to distract Brittany from the pain exploding in her arm as Pauline gently prods at the long cut there. 

Brittany grunts a little, breathing deeply through her teeth. “Yeah,” she manages, and as much as she would love to gush about how amazing her girlfriend is and how much she’s hopelessly-head-over-heels in love—especially to the woman who’s been teasing her about her lack of love life for years—she can’t really form any coherent thoughts beyond _ow_ right now.

“We’ll have to stitch your hand up, but other than that it’s nothing that some water and bandages won’t fix,” Pauline decides as she straightens up. “The doctor should be in after he’s done setting Mike’s arm and we’ll get you some pain meds before I pull out my sewing kit.”

Brittany winces and turns her usually effective pout on Pauline. “Do I really need drugs?”

“If you don’t want to feel the needle, yeah, a little,” Pauline retorts dryly, heading for the door. “Besides, Detective Loopy is my favourite kind of Pierce.”

Brittany rolls her eyes and sits patiently on the bed. Pauline only takes a couple minutes before she’s returning with the doctor, stuff to clean Brittany’s cuts, the pain meds, and a phone. Brittany quickly calls her and Mike’s sergeant to update him while the doctor scribbles something in her chart, promising that both of them will call him tomorrow after getting some rest. Brittany waits until the doctor has officially prescribed her the drugs and checked her over before she calls her girlfriend, hissing as Pauline starts cleaning away the blood and dirt and rocks embedded in her knees.

“ _Hey, babe_ ,” Santana greets and Brittany can hear the smile in her voice. “ _Are you on your way home now?_ ”

It’s probably a combination of the pain meds and the ice on her forehead that causes a goofy smile to spread across her face at that thought; they’ve lived together for a couple months by now but that thought, that idea, that concept, never fails to fill her with fizzling, bubbling joy, like she took a long drink of soda. Usually she can contain her giddiness revolving all things Santana—at least when she’s attempting to be a professional because she’s _technically_ still on shift—but judging from the knowing smirk on Pauline’s face as she continues to clean up Brittany’s knees she doesn’t hide it very well. “Um,” she mumbles quietly, “Not quite. Mike and I were chasing a suspect today and I kinda tripped over him and now there’s an arm that isn’t exactly straight anymore and I—”

“ _You broke what?_ ” Santana squawks, and through the haze of drugs that’s slowly descending upon Brittany’s consciousness, there’s a deep throbbing ache in her chest at the fear coating Santana’s voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay,” Brittany soothes quickly, “We’re at the hospital right now and I didn’t break anything but I’m pretty sure Mike’s getting a cast right now and since he’s my ride home today—”

“ _I’ll be there in ten_ ,” Santana interrupts, and the jangling of keys fills Brittany’s ears for a moment. “ _I’ll drive Mike home too._ ”

“Okay,” Brittany mumbles, quickly growing more hazy. “I dunno know where he is but he’s prob’ly somewhere.” Brittany doesn’t notice the way Pauline fondly rolls her eyes at Brittany; she’s always reacted poorly to pain meds, ever since the very first time Pauline was stitching her up when she was only just a recruit. “Wait,” Brittany says slowly, “Who are you driving home?”

“ _Mike_ —” Santana starts, but then stops, remembering the last time she saw Brittany on pain meds after she took her to the doctor to get her shoulder checked out all those weeks ago, “ _Never mind. I’ll see you soon okay?_ ” Santana waits for Brittany’s acknowledgement, and then Brittany can hear the no-nonsense tone to her voice fade away and soft concern floods her ears as Santana murmurs her farewells.

It feels like Brittany blinks and then Santana is standing in the doorway. Miraculously, her hand is already neatly stitched up and Pauline is wrapping a soft bandage around it, her knees already bandaged too.

“Hey,” Brittany whispers excitedly to Pauline, her eyes hazy from the drugs and dreamy from Santana’s presence, “That’s my girlfriend over there. Isn’t she _beautiful?_ ”

Pauline glances up to greet Brittany’s girlfriend with a small smile, hoping to soothe said girlfriend’s worries before they start even if she knows it’s too late for that. “She is very beautiful,” Pauline agrees, and Brittany immediately bristles under the nurse’s hands.

“You aren’t going to try and date her, are you?” Brittany asks, and the threatening suspicion in her voice makes Pauline bark out a loud laugh, a surprised chuckle drifting through the room from the doorway.

“No, Brittany,” Pauline says fondly, “I’m not going to try and date your girlfriend.”

“Good,” Brittany says, her eyes cutting back to Santana as a hopelessly smitten smile spreads wide across her face again. She turns to Pauline and whispers a confession that couldn’t even generously be called a whisper. “Because I’m planning on marrying her one day and I don’t want to have to fight you for her hand.”

Santana’s eyes widen and her jaw slackens a little at Brittany’s words, but her eyes soften barely a split second later and Pauline doesn’t need to know anything beyond the look on Santana’s face to know that she won’t have to tease Brittany about her lack of love life ever again.

“You must be the infamous Ms. Lopez,” Pauline greets as she secures the bandage around Brittany’s hand. 

Santana manages to pull her gaze away from Brittany for long enough to offer Pauline a tight, worried smile. “You must be the infamous Nurse Pauline who’s always fixing my girlfriend up,” she says.

“Girlfriend?” Brittany says excitedly, her eyes a little unfocused as she looks across the room, “You’re my girlfriend?”

Santana’s smile is so adoring and loving that Pauline feels a little bit like an intruder. “For like a year, Britt-Britt,” she promises as she crosses the room.

“Really?” Brittany gasps, smiling even wider as Santana takes Brittany’s uninjured hand and gently brushes tangled blonde hair off of her face, dark eyes quickly taking inventory of all of Brittany’s injuries, “Score!”

Brittany is content to just stare starry-eyed at Santana while Pauline explains the care Brittany will need and recommends some OTC pain meds before she collects her stuff and heads for the door.

“You’re sure she’s really okay?” Santana says skeptically, eyeing the nurse with suspicion and her girlfriend with fond concern, “Because I swear I’ll—”

“Absolutely,” Pauline says with a small smile. “Some people respond to certain pain meds a little,” she glances at Brittany, who’s dreamily and clumsily stroking at Santana’s hip, swinging her legs back and forth without a care in the world, “Well let’s just say Brittany’s always been a little loopier than most whenever we give her the good stuff.”

Santana seems satisfied with the answer, even if her worries won’t be completely assuaged until Brittany’s all healed, and thanks Pauline, who promises to check and see if Mike’s ready to be discharged as well.

Brittany’s humming lightly to herself, and now that the nurse is gone, Santana wraps her arms tightly around Brittany and buries herself into her girlfriend’s embrace, needing the comfort of Brittany breathing against her for reassurance. She can feel Brittany’s smile against her stomach as slightly clumsy arms wrap around Santana’s waist, coherent enough to just quietly let Santana cling to her for a moment.

“What am I going to do with you?” Santana mumbles fondly, pulling back and framing Brittany’s cheeks with her hands. Brittany smiles a little lopsidedly up at Santana, her blue eyes cloudy but still loving as she meets her girlfriend’s eyes. Santana knew going into their relationship that Brittany’s job came with a much higher risk than most, but she absolutely adores how passionate Brittany is about being a detective and would never wish her to be anything else.

It doesn’t mean that she’ll ever stop worrying about her though.

“We match!” Brittany says happily, breaking Santana from her thoughts. Santana hums in acknowledgement, more than a little confused, until Brittany takes Santana’s right hand in hers, trailing sluggish fingers along the jagged scar marring her palm. She smiles widely up at Santana again and holds up her left hand, pressing her bandaged palm to Santana’s scarred palm and it’s only then that Santana realizes that the stitches Brittany got are now pressed against her own scar. “We match!” Brittany repeats with a wide smile.

Santana shakes her head a little, unable to fight the smile curling her lips, and carefully laces their fingers together, using her other hand on Brittany’s jaw to draw her chin up so she can press their lips together. “You’re a goof,” Santana mumbles against Brittany’s lips.

“Your goof,” Brittany says cheekily.

Santana sighs and a warm tingle races up her spine as her mind replays Brittany’s earlier confession to Pauline about _one day_. “Yeah,” she agrees simply, Brittany’s familiar smile making their lips slip against each other, “My goof.”


End file.
